Happily Ever After
by Ostrich on a Rampage
Summary: The world is cruel. It traps you and pushes and crushes, and if you aren't strong enough, you crumple under the oppressing weight of it all. Jack is surprised that he even managed to make it this far, had always thought that he'd shatter far before now.


**There are so many things I should be doing, like homework and April one-shots, but, no. I wrote another one-shot. So, here you go!**

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See, Jack is not an idiot. He knows that he can be stupid, more often than not, but he knows how the world works. You can't make it on the unrelenting streets of New York City without knowing. The world is cruel. It traps you and pushes and crushes, and if you aren't strong enough, you crumple under the oppressing weight of it all. Jack is surprised that he even managed to make it this far, had always thought that he'd shatter far before now. It is dark and impossible, and Jack just doesn't have the strength anymore.

But there was this kid.

There was one kid who didn't seem affected by the encroaching darkness, who beamed so brightly that he could stave off those endless shadows. He had it just as bad as Jack; worse, even. And he just smiled. His eyes shone with hope and his smile stretched like sun rays and he could not be extinguished, no matter how much the world battered him.

The kid intrigued Jack. He didn't understand how anyone could smile so widely and still mean it. He couldn't comprehend how the kid managed to retain his joy and optimism. There were days that Jack could barely drag himself out of bed, when he'd stand at the edge of the roof and wonder. But the kid didn't seem to have days like those. He just smiled and laughed and limped away.

His knees shake and suddenly he is on the cold, unrelenting ground. Ice seeps through his skin, chilling him, his blood, his thoughts. His heart. Is there nothing that cannot break? Is there nothing that Jack can protect?

The kid had a crutch.

It was as if the world had pinned a sign to his back: "beat this kid up." The bullies that prowled the street latched onto the kid immediately as an easy target. He would come home, bruises shadowing his jaw and winces that he couldn't quite hide. But, still smiling. The kid was always smiling, no matter the pain he must've been in. There had been a day that Jack had happened upon a pair of real big teens going after the kid and the kid had swung his crutch, using the handicap as a personalized weapon. Jack had stepped in, although he wasn't sure if he had been needed. The kid had smiled up at him and they had walked away together, laughing about how scared the bullies had been. And the smile hadn't left.

"You ever stop smiling?" Jack had joked once and the kid's smile had widened.

"Don't got a reason to stop smiling," the kid had answered. He had rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, as if he were embarrassed by the answer. As if there was a need to be embarrassed by happiness.

Jack had laughed and pulled the kid into a one-armed hug. "That's good. You just keep smiling, then," he had said. But there were so many reasons that Jack could think of not to smile. The world was filled with excuses and Jack was terrified that he'd fall and would forget how to smile, that the motion would become foreign or painful. "You just keep smiling and you keep reminding me how to smile."

And the kid had. Kept smiling, that is. It was a relief, a breath of fresh air that seemed impossible in New York's smoke-choked skies. It was something to come home to at the end of the day, something that Jack could actually look forward to. Life had been one gray, motionless blur until the kid stepped into it and shone a light that Jack could latch onto, could cling to in his darkest moments. He wasn't alone and Jack couldn't remember a time that he had felt this way. He had a family now, a brother. Sure, he had the other newsboys, but they were just as world-beaten as Jack. They couldn't buoy him up the way the kid could.

Except, there came a time when the kid didn't smile.

And, worse, it was Jack's fault.

He is a failure. Jack knows this to be truth, just as he knows that the pavement is dark, slick. Just as he knows what stains the jutting, rutting cobblestones.

The kid had been so excited for the strike, had made a tattered banner that he had tied to his crutch. He had wanted so badly to be part of something great and Jack had been proud. He had felt unstoppable. With his friends, with his _family_ , behind him on this, there was no way that they could lose. But, they had. A fight had started and Jack should have recognized that their strike could only lead to violence. He had tried to keep track of the kid in the crowd, but the overpowering scent of blood and fear had incensed him and Jack had focused on the fight, forgetting the fighters. Then, the cops had come and everything had devolved so quickly. Jack wasn't an idiot, he wasn't, and he had recognized that they needed to get out of there now. Everyone else had known it, too, and Jack had allowed himself to be swept along the crowd of scattering newsboys.

"Jack!"

The shout had been heart-stoppingly desperate. Jack had half-turned, trying to find the kid in the crowd, searching for that familiar smile that never faded. There was no smile to be found. Across the square, gripped tightly by the Delancey brothers, the kid was being dragged away. His eyes were wide and panicked and his mouth open in a wordless plea for help. In that brief moment, he had made eye contact with the kid and he tried calling again, "Jack!"

Jack couldn't do anything, had to back away, one hand reaching out, but unable to stretch across that insurmountable distance. The kid's eyes shone once more, but this time, it wasn't with joy or eternal hope. Betrayal, bright and clear. A lump had grown in Jack's throat and he wanted more than anything to save the kid, but he couldn't. Not when fear-locked memories had him turning and running away.

Throughout his life, Jack had run away. It was the only solution that ever worked. He had run from a family that had never shown him more than brief annoyance. He had run from the cops and loud whistles, from crimes committed, from Snyder and the dank Refuge. Jack had envisioned running away from New York to a town where he would never need to run again. This running, however, hurt the most. He had run from the kid that had meant the most to him. Jack had chosen to save himself instead of saving that smile.

Jack grasps at the hand before him. It is familiar. And foreign, all the same. He knows the callouses; the long, thin fingers, partially curled; the soft pads of the fingers, cushioned and familiar; the lines that crossed across his palm, deep chasms that spoke of a future forever gone. He doesn't know the chill that stiffens the hand.

It had been two weeks before the smile came back, but it wasn't real. Jack could tell, at this point. He knew that the smile was only there for his benefit and wondered what the kid looked like when he wasn't around. Did he stare into the distance, quiet and brooding? Mournful? Did he press at bruises, rub at scabs, and simply remember? And when Jack approached, did the kid just push all those thoughts away because he didn't think Jack could handle anything but the smile? It had been heartbreaking.

Jack hadn't known what to do, but he had resolved to stop at nothing to bring that smile back. And as he worked to make the kid smile—as he told stories, as he sat in silence, as he carefully kept the kid as much company as he could spare—Jack had realized that he didn't want to lose that smile ever again. He hadn't thought he could manage the city without the kid smiling by his side. Even stranger, the feeling had seemed to be more than simply needing the kid, it had started to turn into a want, into a yearning.

Suddenly, Jack had discovered himself spending as much time with the kid as he could. Talking, laughing, joking, simply sitting and being near the kid: it all excited him. He had caught himself staring across the room, watching the kid. The kid's smile had occupied more and more of Jack's pictures. His fingers had ached to sketch the grin over and over again. He had memorized the kid's face, the way his hair jutted from beneath his cap and how his skin wrinkled playfully at the corner of his eyes. Nights, while Jack had laid in bed, struggling to sleep, the kid's face had danced behind his eyelids and he hadn't seemed able to move on, even if he had wanted to. All Jack had been able to think about was the kid and his smile.

He knows the sandy-blonde hair and knows exactly how his hand should feel as it runs through the soft strands. Except, he doesn't know what it will feel like now. And he fears he cannot touch it.

Jack had broached the topic of his feelings with the kid, one night, when they were both alone. He had stumbled over his words and hadn't been able to keep eye contact. Jack had feared that the kid would hate him for those blasphemed thoughts, but he couldn't stand silence any longer. For one heart-stoppingly long moment, the kid had remained quiet and Jack had tore at his palm, sharpened nails digging anxiously at the tender skin. A warm hand had stopped Jack's movements and Jack had risked a glance upward. The kid hadn't said anything, but his eyes had sparkled.

The kid just smiled and Jack had known.

It hadn't been easy, not by a long shot. Jack had been leader of the Manhattan newsies; he had expectations to live up to. But, that hadn't stopped them, could never have stopped them. Jack had been careful to make sure that they only showed affection to each other on the rooftop, or behind the bends of alleys. Nothing had been in the open. Soft caresses and tender kisses, all had been hidden in the dark. But it hadn't mattered. Jack was willing to do whatever it took to keep that smile, not only at his side, but directed at him. Jack had known that even if he lived to the age of ninety-five, he would still need that kid's smile.

He knows those eyes, though hidden behind pale eyelids. He knows the vivacity that those brown orbs shine with and the way they shift downward, before flicking up quickly when he cups that familiar chin. He knows those lips; how they quirk upward quickly, how they stretch in wide smiles, how they feel against his own.

They had kept the secret so well. Jack and the kid had hidden their relationship for nearly a year, when it all had come crashing down. The other newsboys had begun to grow suspicious of just how far Jack's friendship with the kid extended, but no one had actually approached Jack about it. The kid had been worried, had murmured in the moonlight that, perhaps, they needed to stop, that perhaps it was for the best. Jack had promised that nothing would happen, that he wouldn't let anything happen to the kid.

He had been a fool. There had been no way for Jack to control the actions of those big boys on the street who sneered with the safety of numbers. Jack had tried to keep them at bay. He had fought countless battles and had come home with far too many black eyes and bloody noses. But there had been no way to completely stave off the attacks. Jack had tried to protect the kid, but he had failed. Just as he failed at everything. The kid had started limping home with bruises and winces that he could never quite hide from Jack. He had smiled, as always, but the motion was strained. The kid had reassured that everything was okay and not to worry about him. Jack hadn't recognized the smile.

Jack should know the kid before him, but he doesn't.

He can't.

Jack cannot connect the face that shone with joy and life with the ever-paling face before him. These simply cannot be the same faces. Those familiar sharp cheekbones are bruised, smudged and Jack cannot look at his defeat anymore.

"Jack," the kid whispers. His voice is soft and dead. No. No. Not dead. Bad description. _Not_ dead. Weak. His voice is soft and weak. Those familiar lips crack open, only a hair's breadth between. "Jack," the kid tries again.

Jack turns back to the kid, gripping the cold hand tighter. "It's okay," he promises. He needs to make this promise and he can't afford to break it. Jack knows that he's made thousands upon thousands of promises before. Mountains of words that break and shatter, jagged shards that pierce hearts. "It's going to be okay. You'll be fine." He laughs, the sound grating against a closing throat. "It's just a scratch, really."

The kid smiles. Those lips are bright, stained with blood and Jack cannot tear his eyes from them, watches as they twitch with pain, before slipping back into a frown. "Just a scratch," he whispers in agreement.

"Yeah, you'll be up and selling in a coupl'a days, just you wait," Jack urges. He doesn't believe his own words, not for a heartbeat. But, he needs them to miraculously come true. He needs it more than he has ever needed anything. Jack is willing to forego oxygen, if it just meant that the kid could be back at his familiar street corner, grin brightening the ever-darkening world.

"Mm," the kid hums. His face creases with pain and he shifts his right hand to his stomach.

Jack grabs the hand and shoves it away, probably harsher than necessary. "Don't," he commands. "Don't touch it." It is too late. The kid's hand is dark, dripping with the blood that soaks his shirt, soaks the ground, soaks Jack's pants.

The kid winces. "Hurts, Jack," he mumbles. He reaches his free hand up and rubs his forehead, streaking dark red against the pale skin. Jack looks away but the afterimage of the blood slashing across the kid's head flickers behind his eyelids. He wants to turn and just heave and heave until he is completely empty, a shell of the boy he once was. But he can't. This isn't the time to focus on himself. The kid matters most.

"I know," Jack whispers. "But, hey, you'se gonna be okay, yeah? Maybe you'll be bed-ridden for a coupl'a days, but that's okay. I'll make sure the other boys help spot your rent, yeah?"

The kid's eyes follow Jack, before blinking slowly, languidly. "'m tired," the kid whispers, closing his eyes.

No, Jack will not allow this to happen. He needs those eyes in his life, needs them to continue watching him, trusting him. "No, you gotta stay awake," Jack commands. He tries to laugh, tries to joke, "Sun's still up, so you gotta be, too."

The lips flicker up for a moment, before returning to their stasis. "Mm." The kid does not open his eyes.

"Come on," Jack tries again, squeezing the weak hand. "You gotta open your eyes, yeah? Look at me, kid."

The kid doesn't move.

"No, you gotta stay awake," Jack pleads desperately. He can't lose this kid. Not after everything the pair of them have been through. "You gotta stay awake. Please stay awake. For me, yeah?"

Shifting slightly, the kid manages to pry his eyes open. "Jack… just wanna sleep." Jack studies the pained brown orbs and the way they tiredly move across Jack's face. He notices the soft tremors that cause the kid to flinch in pain. He memorizes every movement, because he refuses to forget this moment. Ever.

Jack is not an idiot and he realizes. He recognizes. He knows he only has one option, really.

"Okay," Jack whispers. He hates that word, hates the world, hates everything and everyone that has ever existed, except the small, trembling kid before him. "Okay, you go to sleep. I'll be right here when you wake up."

The kid smiles, nodding slightly. "T-tell a s-story?" he asks, his voice shaking with the simple exertion of speaking.

"Of course. Anything in particular?" The kid just smiles and Jack doesn't think he'll ever hear the kid speak again. The thought makes him want to scream and shout and tear his hair out and pull a building down on top of him, but he can't. The kid wants a story and Jack knows he will always comply to anything the kid wants. Jack grips the kid's hand even tighter, while he struggles to come up with something happy to tell the kid. He wants to just talk about Santa Fe because that was what kept Jack going in his darkest times. However, Santa Fe isn't the kid's dream; it's Jack's. "Okay, this is a story about a knight. He's kinda like you and he's kinda like me. Except, he's more interesting because he slays dragons instead of selling papes." Jack laughs.

The kid doesn't.

Clearing his throat, Jack continues, "Life wasn't super great to this knight. He didn't have a family; he was alone. But, he didn't need a family. He had a friend. A brother, really. They were inseparable. Nothing could keep them apart. Nothing," Jack repeats, his voice cracking. "Anyway, they did everything together and they decided that they wanted to go on this giant quest. Fight a dragon, rescue a princess, something exciting like that. The knight was excited. This was going to be his first real quest and he wanted to prove to everyone just how important he was in the kingdom.

"The knight's friend waged war on a group of dragons and the knight, the friend, and all their squires went into war. There were so many dragons and they were vicious. Sharp swords did nothing to stop them. The knight, he, uh, he got captured. He was taken away. And," Jack takes a shuddering breath, gripping the kid's hand even tighter, "and he was hurt. He was hurt badly. While he was gone, his friend realized that he couldn't ever be without the knight, that he needed the knight. He nearly went mad without the knight by his side. When the knight finally broke free and made it home, his friend knew that he couldn't just be friends. He needed more."

Jack stops, swallowing hard. The kid is still smiling, but his eyes have slipped closed. He needs to hurry, doesn't know how much time he has left. "So, the friend told the knight that he loved him and the knight said he loved him back. This wasn't your average type of love. It was so much deeper than that. Like, imagine a sunrise. Everything is dark and then the sun comes up and the sky glows with the wonder of it all. It was like that, except better. The sun never went down. Sure, there were clouds and storms and sometimes people refused to believe in the sun and mocked it, but it was there. It was constant.

"The knight and his friend decided to go on a different quest. Everyone knew that they had defeated all those dragons, so they thought they could defeat everything. And they could, together. Except, one day, a group of evil wizards attacked the knight. They hurt him. Th-they hurt him badly. And then, they convinced him that he needed to go into a deep, dark cave. The knight was scared. It was so dark and he didn't have any light. He has to do it, though. He's about to go in, move forward into the unknown and he's terrified. But," Jack says, squeezing the kid's hand, "I'm gonna let you know the ending of this story. When he gets through the cave—and he does get through the cave—his friend is on the other side and they get to live forever and ever. Together." Jack pauses. "They live happily ever after," he whispers, the words slipping out as a reflex.

The kid is still smiling and Jack smiles down at him. "They live happily ever after," he repeats because it's all he can cling to, now. Five words and they mean everything. Jack needs to believe the fairy tale he spun. If he believes hard enough, maybe the kid will wake up and _they'll_ live happily ever after. Jack gently reaches his left hand across the kid and rubs his thumb against the kid's cheekbone, ignoring the dark gash of blood streaked across the kid's forehead. The kid doesn't flinch. He doesn't react at all.

"No," Jack whispers, releasing the kid's hand and moving to crouch over the kid's prone body. "No, you gotta be okay. I lied. You can't sleep. You gotta stay awake," he begs. He taps the kid's cheek, but there is no reaction. "Come on," he pleads because he can _not_ do this alone. "Come on and just wake up."

The kid smiles.

Jack shatters.

See, Jack is not an idiot. He knows that he can be stupid, more often than not, but he knows how the world works. You can't make it on the unrelenting streets of New York City without knowing. The world is cruel. It traps you and pushes and crushes, and if you aren't strong enough, you crumple under the oppressing weight of it all. Jack is surprised that he even managed to make it this far, had always thought that he'd shatter far before now. It is dark and impossible, and Jack just doesn't have the strength anymore.

Happily ever after was always just a beautiful lie.

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 **Okay, so this is not my usual writing style, so please give me some feedback! I'm trying new things and I need to know what works and what does not. Thank you all in advance!**


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